


I've been to paradise and out the other side

by TheSevenUmbrellas (RosyPages)



Series: I Won't Hurt You [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Elliot survives AU, Elliot!Whump, Fix-It, Fluff, Graphic Description, Hurt Elliot, Hurt/Comfort, Luther will be asexual in this, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, Soft Luther Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26444563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosyPages/pseuds/TheSevenUmbrellas
Summary: “We could get you a robot eye?”Elliot looks at him with shock. Is that possible? Can they do that? Do people have robot parts from where they’re from?Luther manages to hold his eyes for five full seconds before he bursts out laughing. “I was kidding! Sorry, just… your face.”
Relationships: Elliott Gussman/Luther Hargreeves
Series: I Won't Hurt You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922293
Comments: 15
Kudos: 114





	I've been to paradise and out the other side

He feels like he should be freaking out. Most people would be freaking out after hours of torture. He isn’t. Elliot isn’t much of anything.

The world feels too far away to care about. There are aliens in his home right now. Or time travelers. Or spacemen. Or superheroes. He still doesn’t know. That’s okay with him. He knows it shouldn’t be.

One of them has thrown a blanket over his shoulder at some point, but he can’t remember which one or when. The blanket has a small blood stain in the corner, and he fiddles with it in his hands. It’s his blood, he knows. His blood from where those men had squeezed it from him while he screamed.

Were they men? Aliens? He doesn’t know. For the first time since he can remember, the wheels in his head aren’t turning. He doesn’t want to know or think or speculate. He doesn’t care.

What he wants is to sit very still and ignore the pain throbbing through every nerve in his body. The small boy who wasn’t a boy had said it will all heal. All except his eye. Those had been his words. It will all heal. “ _It_.”

As if the cuts don’t pull at his skin, as if the crushed remains of his hands aren’t connected to his wrists, as if they aren’t part of him. He can’t think of it that way. There is no distance between himself and the pain. It’s there. It sits between his ribs, wings beating against every cell, claws tearing him apart atom by atom.

Suddenly, Elliot can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and his chest is burning. His chest is burning and there is pain and he can see the blond men leering over him. They smile as they promise to slice pieces of him away, until he is nothing. Until he is all gone without anyone left to care.

He’s moving before he can fully register the thoughts scattered across his brain. His body screams in protest, but they didn’t stop when he screamed, and he can’t stop now. The spacemen alien time traveling superheroes try to stop him. They speak together and there’s too many voices in Elliot’s head. He barely manages to wave them off before he’s throwing himself through the door.

Or, he tries to throw himself through the door, except his eyes is still missing, and his coordination is wonky. The left side of his head slams against the wooden doorframe. There’s a ringing in his ear and his face feels swollen in a way that promises a deep headache later after his body recovers from the shock.

He just walked into a _door_.

The others don’t speak and for that he’s grateful. He can’t take their pity anymore. Their long looks. The distress in their eyes.

He manages to duck out the exit and tumble down the stairs without another incident.

It’s raining outside, and he immediately wishes he’d thought to have brought the blanket with him. The shock of slamming his face against the wall has cleared the residue of panic in his lungs. Now he’s just shivering and damp, but he can’t bring himself to turn around and walk back up those stairs with his tail between his legs.

Even Elliot, stupid silly Elliot with his conspiracy theories and one-bedroom apartment above a failing electronics store, even he has too much pride for that.

He doesn’t look up when the door behind him swings open, or when the heavy footsteps stomp closer. He knows what they’ll say. _Come inside, it’s not safe out here._ Well, the joke is on them. It’s not safe inside either. Maybe it never was.

A weight falls over his shoulders, and he looks down to find the blanket tucked around him. It’s not very thick, but it’s warm, and the rain is light enough that he’s decently protected. Elliot shivers into it and some of the tension bleeds from his muscles.

Luther’s standing beside him. Elliot can’t help but feel relieved. Luther’s by far his favorite. The small one is still scary, and he’s pretty sure the one with knives wouldn’t hesitate to use them on him. He’d met the others, of course, but the other boy is creepy even if he did eat his Jell-O. He supposes the girls are nice enough, but they both hold a sort of power that even Elliot can sense. It’s the way they carry themselves with confidence. They all do. He doesn’t think any of them notice how different they are to the rest of the world, even excluding the powers. They’re untouchable and they can break the world with a thought, and they know it.

Luther doesn’t do that, Elliot realizes as he stares at him. Luther holds himself like he knows the world is breakable, and he’s doing his best _not to break it_. He bends as he stands, hunching himself over, drawing himself in, trying to fit his massive girth in a space too small.

The man clears his throat, a flush rising from his neck to his cheeks, and Elliot realizes he’s been staring for too long. “Sorry,” he mumbles. At least that is an old song and dance he is used to.

Luther shakes his head. “I know I’m… ahh…” He trials off, gesturing to himself as if that’s an answer. Elliot doesn’t quite know what he means, but before he can ask, Luther continues. “I used to do that all the time, you know? Walk into things like that. After my accident. I was suddenly… I mean, I looked like this, right? And it was a big change and I just… suddenly I didn’t _fit_ anymore. I lost count of how many doors I hit my head against. Or chairs I broke. Or plates, for that matter… and pens… lots of pens…Dad used to get so mad about the pens, too. He always complained about having to buy more pens. Like he couldn’t afford it or something.” Luther shakes his head, as if trying to rattle the memory physically from his brain.

Elliot just stares, confused about why he’s being told all these strange things he can’t piece together correctly. All at once, he realizes that this alien spaceman superhero time-traveler is trying to make him feel better. _Him_.

He shrugs his shoulders. His muscles groan in pain. The litter of cuts across his back tug at his shirt. “At least you got superpowers out of it, right?” He doesn’t want to sound bitter, but he is. Completely bitter. These strangers used his home, brought his attackers to his doorstep, and he was one the who’d paid the price. Why couldn’t it have been them? They’re the invincible ones, right? He is just Elliot.

“We could get you a robot eye?”

Elliot looks at him with shock. Is that possible? Can they do that? Do people have robot parts from where they’re from?

Luther manages to hold his eyes for five full seconds before he bursts out laughing. “I was kidding! Sorry, just… your face.”

Elliot tries to scowl, but the muscles in his face won’t cooperate. Luther’s laugh is infectious and soon enough he’s giggling along with it. “That was mean,” he says, though his tone is light enough to reassure Luther that he’s joking.

“I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he gasps. “I have footage of JFK’s assassination that hasn’t happened yet. Your brother can time-travel. You’re from the future.”

Luther at least does him the kindness of looking shameful. “Okay, when you say it like that.”

He can’t help it. The flush is creeping back up over Luther’s neck and he looks so guilty, Elliot has to laugh again. His ribs ache, his lungs burn but it feels _so_ good. So normal. He’s just laughing in the rain with a space alien. His new normal.

When he recovers himself, he leans against the wall, pulling the blanket tighter around him. He can’t believe Luther had thought to bring it. It was a simple thing, just a blanket. But he can’t remember the last time someone had cared about something like that. Had thought that maybe he might be cold.

He’d brought him a blanket and made him laugh.

“Thanks,” he says, voice so light and quiet it’s almost lost to the rain.

“For what?” Luther asks. He cocks his head, big blue eyes full of confusion. How is it that a man this large can look so much like a puppy?

Elliot smiles at him, softly. “For not treating me like I’m breakable.”

To his surprise, Luther looks almost… guilty. He shifts his feet against the sidewalk, eyes downcast. “I’m not very good at that,” he admits.

“At?”

“Subtlety?” he offers. “Gentleness?”

Elliot looks the hulking figure that is Luther up and down. Even now, he presses himself against the wall like he’s hoping he’ll disappear. So much of him is hidden under that ratty jacket and the woolen sweaters, he seems to almost be just a floating head glued to a heap of fabric. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

But Luther shakes his head. “No…. I’ve said things. Done things. I guess we all have, but my things? They’re pretty bad. I was mad at my family for a _really_ long time.”

“Why?” He wonders if it’s the right thing to press him like this. But he doesn’t seem to mind, and it’s nice to take Elliot’s mind off his pain.

“They left.” He says it like there’s no more explanation needed. Maybe he’s right. Elliot thinks about what life will be like a week from now, when he has an empty apartment all over again. They’re going to leave him, and despite all that’d happened… he can’t quite shake the feeling of dread that takes over him at the thought of going back to his below-average, quiet life.

He doesn’t say all that. What he says is, “They’re here now.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.” Luther’s eyes drift up to the rain. “I’m going inside.”

It’s not an order, it’s an invitation. One Elliot knows he should take advantage of. At the same time, he can’t quite force his feet to move.

“I don’t want to go back to that apartment.” The words are strange to admit even to himself, but he knows them to be true. There are blood stains on the floor and the dentist chair is still there and sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can still smell the metal and the blood and-

He has to take a long, steadying breath.

Luther is staring at him. He’s relieved to see no pity or guilt. Instead, he nods his head, solemnly accepting the problem as if Elliot had just told him they were out of eggs. “Is it the stains? We could buy some vinegar?” he suggests.

The snort hurts as it comes out of his still tender nose. “Why?”

Luther rubs at his arms, looking sheepish. “It’s supposed to help with blood, I think? Mom used to use it for a lot of stuff. I can still remember the smell.” He pulls a face, and Elliot can reasonably assume the smell of vinegar is not something he wants in his tiny apartment.

“I don’t… it’s not the blood. Exactly.” It’s not. The problem isn’t something that can just be dusted away. He can get rid of the dentist chair, scrape away the pieces of himself still left on the floor… but his home isn’t safe anymore. It’ll always be the place of his suffering, no matter what they do to help him.

To his credit, Luther nods again. Like he understands. Elliot thinks about the scars on his arms, the head that doesn’t quite fit his body, and wonders if he does.

“You can come back with us?”

The suggestion is spoken so easily, as if it means nothing to him.

Elliot almost can’t find his voice, can’t sort his tongue in his mouth quickly enough to respond. “Really?” He hates how the hope in his voice makes him squeak.

“Yeah.” Luther’s smiling now. Elliot had never been sure how a smile could brighten someone’s face, but somehow on Luther it does. The tension eases, the lines in his forehead smooth out, his eyebrows unknit themselves. The blue in his eyes looks lighter. It’s nice. “Yeah,” he repeats. “I don’t see why not. Five might bitch, but the way I see it, we kind of owe you now. Right?”

Elliot beams. He grins so hard his face hurts. The space where his eye had been just a few hours ago throbs. He doesn’t care.

He’s leaving with Luther.

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of an Elliot/Luther series! This is for myself to practice present tense and romance.
> 
> Please let me know how to improve my romance lol.  
> Also if you have requests for one shots with these guys.
> 
> Let me know if you liked it! :)


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